


The Alliance

by LibraryOfNeith



Series: Faith, Hope and War [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19833472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryOfNeith/pseuds/LibraryOfNeith
Summary: Sansa and Sandor have settled into a new life in Pentos. But they can't hide away from Westeros forever and the winds of change are blowing...





	1. New Life

**Author's Note:**

> Ta daaaaa! I'm back and I bring thee a gift. My series continues with this new story. As you can see; I'm adding some new POVs instead of just Sansa, as I wanted to show the changing of this work - from a domestic story about a budding relationship to a (hopefully) more complex political drama. Thanks again for all your support, this is so much fun!

_Sandor_

The golden light of dawn stretched across the room and crept between Sandor’s eyelids. He blinked himself awake then agonizingly drew himself up. As he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, he looked back at the form of Sansa who was still asleep. She was stretched out across the bed like a sleeping goddess: black hair splayed out in an ebony curtain across the pillow; her hands curved protectively over her growing bump. She was eight months along now and as her time drew nearer, Sandor found himself growing more anxious. He knew the perils that childbirth carried; but he was also scared for what would come after. So much of his time was spent guarding the fat cheese monger that he barely had enough time to spend with his wife, let alone a child. The magister seemed good humoured enough but he wasn’t sure how he’d react if he asked for time off and he didn’t want to lose this job.

The first few months in Pentos had been hard for them. Although Sandor still had some money left from his tourney winnings, he’d been constantly worried about it running out as he’d struggled to find work. He’d found temporary jobs in shops or on building sites – when people needed heavy lifting done – but nothing permanent. No one seemed to trust him enough, probably because he was foreign or because of his face. Same fucking thing as in Westeros. Sansa had helped by selling the moonstones and fine clothes she’d been wearing when they’d escaped. She’d insisted that she didn’t care about losing them and that beautiful things didn’t matter to her but it still made Sandor grit his teeth – he felt like he was failing her. He’d promised to be there for her and to protect her but he couldn’t keep her out of poverty.

Then, completely out of the blue, their luck had changed. Sandor had been approached by two of those eunuch soldiers they had here; saying that Magister Illyrio Mopatis commanded his presence. Sandor didn’t see what right this “Illyrio Mopatis” had to command him anywhere, but thank hell he went. That day, Illyrio offered him a job. He’d been brought before an elephant shaped man, dressed in garish red and yellow robes with a forked yellow beard. No greetings, he simply said:

“You have a sword.” It seemed to be a statement rather than a question but Sandor replied:  
“Aye.”  
“You know how to use it?”  
“Aye.”  
“Then use it to protect me.”

Sandor was taken aback. He’d never met this man before and suddenly he was putting his life in his hands.

“You want me… to guard you?”  
“That’s what I said Mister…?”  
“Keat Skinner. Why do you want me to guard you? For all you know; I could be thinking of the quickest way to cut off your head right now.” Illyrio laughed uproariously at that. “Most men would just say `kill me` but you talk of cutting off heads! Ah yes, Mister Skinner, I think you are the perfect man for me. I have been observing you for quite a while about the city – yes – and I see the way men shrink back from you in fear at the slightest turn of your head. That is the fear I want my sworn shield to strike into the hearts of men – yes. Who would think of robbing me and slitting my throat when faced with the head of a demon?”

Sandor bristled but let that slide. The man’s explanation hadn’t entirely satisfied him, and there was something about him that didn’t sit right. Whenever Illyrio looked at him there was something behind his eyes: as if he knew something no one else did. Sansa agreed that it was a suspiciously remarkable offer, but the pay was very generous and Illyrio had offered them their own manse. It was just too good to decline.

And now, here they were. Him spending his days in relative boredom while Illyrio scuttled about and did whatever magisters did; and Sansa spending her days reclining in a luxury manse. Although she tried to hide it, Sandor could tell she was unhappy. It wasn’t enough for her to be in a situation where she wasn’t fearing for her life – she needed things to do and people to talk to, something to make her feel useful. She’d started selling her embroidery at a local market and had even gotten some orders from the local _nobility;_ allowing her to meet some new people, but it wasn’t enough. She was an intelligent, engaging young woman in need of stimulation. He just didn’t know how to give it to her.

As he looked back at her now, he noticed her eyebrows were furrowed and she was muttering in her sleep. He stroked his thumb across her forehead; as if trying to draw her troubles out of her. She hummed and smiled and brought her hand up to cover his own as her eyes opened, still glazed over with sleep.

“Good morning.”  
“Morning, little bird.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips lightly over hers. If he kissed her too deeply he’d probably never get out of bed. It was hard enough for him now to tear himself away from her, she tasted like honey and lemon. But eventually; he managed to detach himself from her embrace – much to her dismay.

“Stay.”  
“I can’t. The fat cheesemonger wants me to run some errands for him.” Sansa snorted at his unflattering description and he pretended to be shocked. “Lady Sansa! How dare you make such an improper noise. Don’t you know that proper ladies never find anything funny? You sound like an amused pig” he scoffed in a prim, high pitched voice; trying to imitate what he remembered of her old septa.  
“Don’t know who ya callin’ Sansa milord. I’m Sybel Skinner” she replied in an impressively rough, northern accent. She then started making little pig grunts. He barked a laugh, glad that she’d woken up in a good mood. She’d been getting increasingly snappy with him: a combination of her mood swings and the frustration of being cooped up all day.

Sandor gave Sansa one last kiss then set out into the city. He didn’t normally have to get up this early but Illyrio had asked him to do some things in town. This was fairly unusual but he just shrugged and took his orders, later returning with to Illyrio’s manse (it was actually more of a palace) with the shopping he wanted. Sandor stalked past the guards, through the gardens and confusing mess of corridors to the eastern wing where he liked to lounge around midday. He knocked on the door and when he heard “enter” swept into the room and stopped dead when he saw the occupants. Illyrio was lounging back on a recliner piled with cushions while Sansa was perched opposite him, on the end of a couch.

“Ah. Clegane.”

_What the fuck?_


	2. The Game Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives an interesting proposal that could bring her back to Westeros.

_Sansa_

Sansa was brought to Illyrio shortly after Sandor left. She’d never met the magister before – after constantly watching beautiful women entering and exiting his bedchamber, Sandor wanted to keep her away from his gaze. She wasn’t sure if she was being invited or summoned, but she wasn’t about to argue with two armed unsullied at her door.

She told them to wait while she got dressed; one advantage of having nothing to do in Pentos was that she’d started learning some of the local tongues like High Valyrian and Ghiscari. Her time was otherwise used for sewing (an activity that had kept her sane through the most difficult of times) and going to the market once a week to sell what she sewed. She didn’t like to complain too much: doing nothing in Pentos was better than doing anything in Kings Landing.

Sansa took her time getting ready. If Illyrio wanted her there quickly he would have to come after her himself. After much consideration she chose a pale-yellow sand silk dress, she loved the way that Pentoshi clothes flowed loosely around her, as opposed to the constrictive layers assigned to the highborn women of Westeros. Her sandals were golden and encrusted with mother-of-pearl which she also wore in her ears and around her wrists. Her hair was simpler; her dyed black tresses braided in to the northern fashion.

If her escort had suffered in the time it took her to prepare they gave no indication. They led her silently to Illyrio’s palace. When Sandor described him as “the fat cheesemonger” he’d in fact been underselling him. The man was enormous! His red and white robes made him look like an overstuffed clown. His forked yellow beard probably hid layers of chins. When he took her hands in his, his fingers felt like cold, raw, sausages and his lips were thick and wormy when they touched her skin. Still, Sansa hid her disgust to the best of her ability.

“Ah! My lady! It gives me such joy to see you here. I had hoped to see you sooner but now I see: perfection takes time. I had heard of the radiance of my sworn shield’s wife, but clearly those rumours were sorely lacking. I can see why he hides you away – if I were married to one as stunning as you, I’d lock you away as well."

 _I’m glad I’m not your wife then_ Sansa thought.

“If I may say so… child bearing suits you.”

Ever since her pregnancy became noticeable, Sansa found that people were lining up to comment on her size and exclaim at how wonderful this miracle was. It was starting to get on her nerves. Some even tried to stroke her belly, she was thankful that Illyrio refrained from that. She smiled demurely and answered:

“You are so kind to say, my lord. I am honoured to have been invited into your home.”

Illyrio wouldn’t stop staring at her. There was scrutiny in his eyes, not just admiration. It was making her uncomfortable. He seemed to notice her discomfort, smiled and said:

“I apologise for staring so. I am just… confused.”  
“What confuses you, my lord?”  
“I was told that Sansa Stark had red hair.”

Sansa froze. Illyrio’s smile widened and he went on: “Perhaps you take after your father; I understand that he had dark hair.”

For a moment, Sansa was lost for words. But then she regained herself and answered coolly:

“You know who I am.”  
“Obviously, and I know who your husband is. You need fear nothing from me; if I were planning to sell you back to those in Kings Landing I would have done so already.”  
“Then what do you want from us?”  
“All in good time. But first please, sit down. Would you care for some refreshment?”

Sansa perched on the edge of a velvet couch that reminded her of the one Cersei had. She declined. This man claimed he meant no harm to her but she wouldn’t consume anything he offered, just to be safe.

“Very well then. I’ve ordered a platter of figs stuffed with goats cheese. There will be plenty for you if you change your mind. Now; do you know Lord Varys?”  
“He is Master of Whisperers at the Red Keep. People called him the Spider.”  
“An apt name for him. And I should know – we were childhood friends.” Yet another thing she did not expect.  
“Y-you and Lord Varys?”  
“Just so. Together we raised ourselves up from gutter rats to become two of the most influential men in Pentos, but that is a story for another time. All you need to know is that we have been corresponding from across the Narrow Sea. He told me the moment you and your husband set sail for this city and I knew the minute you two stepped off the boat. I waited before approaching you as I did not want to incur your suspicion. But you are here now and we are moving all of the pieces into place for our great plan.”  
“And what plan is this?”  
“All in good time. We…”  
“No. Now. I am sick of your illusions and your cryptic revelations. You will tell me now; what plan you and Varys have in mind, and what place my husband and I have in it.”

Illyrio was taken aback: clearly not used to being addressed in such a manner. _Good. It’s time someone did._ But then he put his smile back on and continued:

“We are planning to restore the Last Targaryen to her rightful place on the Iron Throne.”  
“This being Daenerys Targaryen?” Sansa had heard whispers of the Dragon Queen, but didn’t know much beyond that.  
“Just so, and Varys and I agree that you could be a significant asset to her cause. Afterall: you are the Last Stark; the Starks are the Wardens of the North and the North is one of the Seven Kingdoms that Daenerys wishes to rule. If you helped her in this then she could restore you to your family’s seat.”  
“How could I help her cause?”  
“By joining the northern lords and their armies to her strength.”  
“If they were willing to listen to a little girl.”  
“They would listen to Eddard Stark’s last legitimate child, but that is not the only way that you could help her. You were held prisoner by Cersei Lannister, you suffered under her every day. You could provide a valuable insight into how she is likely to fight us.”  
“Perhaps I could provide some counsel, but it is not Cersei that you need to worry about. Tywin Lannister is the real threat.”

His smile changed then, like he knew something that she didn’t.

“Once he would have been, yes, but his days of threating anyone are over. He is dead.” Sansa’s back straightened.  
“Dead? How?”  
“Killed by his own imp son on the privy.”

Sansa almost laughed. Lord Tywin Lannister: the most powerful man in Westeros; the man everyone feared, hated, and wanted to be, killed on the privy. It was true then – the higher you climbed, the farther you had to fall. This changed everything. With its most vital player gone, the game of thrones was thrown wide open.

“The imp: Tyrion Lannister has already joined himself to her cause. He is travelling now to Meereen to offer himself as an advisor. It is my belief that you should do the same. The time has never been more perfect: with Cersei ruling, everything is falling apart. The Seven Kingdoms have no stable leadership – they are ripe for the taking. And you, my dear, should take them with her.”

Sansa was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice that someone else was in the room until Illyrio said:

“Ah. Clegane.”


	3. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everything Illyrio has told them, Sansa and Sandor have a big decision to make about their future.

_Sandor_

_What. The. Fuck._

“I’ve just been talking with your lovely wife about your future together; trying to persuade her to join Daenerys Targaryen in Meereen so that you may restore House Stark to its former glory.”

 _Stark, what? He knows?_ A million different thoughts were whirring around in Sandor’s head. He tried to decide what to do, what to say. But all he could do was stand there gawking like an idiot. Luckily, Sansa broke the silence by pulling him out of the room, chirping excuses at Illyrio.

As soon as they found somewhere private – though Sandor had no doubt that Illyrio had spies lurking around every corner – he turned to Sansa and hissed:

“What the hell is going on?” Then she explained everything. Tywin’s death and Cersei taking control of Westeros; this dragon queen and how she was planning to take the Iron Throne with the help of the imp; and how Illyrio wanted them to join her. At the end of it he just stared at her, lost for words, for a while. All he could do was ask a question:  
“What do you think we should do?”  
“I think we should do it.” Sandor snorted.  
“Seriously? You want to go where that sneaky bugger tells us?”  
“I don’t trust him anymore than you do, but we don’t have any other option. If we refuse, I’m not sure he’ll let us leave and if he does, how will we get by? Before Illyrio no one would give you any work. We can’t just think about ourselves; we have a child on the way.”

Sandor winced. He hated being reminded of how he’d failed her. 

“How will it be any safer for our child if we get sucked into this Targaryen girl’s war? That’s another thing to think about: the person you want us to join is a Targaryen. In case you don’t remember; her family and mine don’t exactly have the best history.”  
“You are not your brother.”  
“Don’t expect she’ll see it that way. Her family’s always had a tendency towards madness.”  
“And greatness. I know it’s a big risk, but this is our chance to get revenge on all who have wronged us, for me to put my house back where it belongs. I think we both know that we don’t belong here, it’s safe but it’s not home. I know you left your home behind years ago in Clegane Keep, but perhaps we could make a new home in Winterfell.”

She must have still seen the doubt in his eyes; because she put both hands on his face so that he couldn’t look away and said:

“I think that this is the right thing to do. But I love you and I don’t want to make a decision for our family if you really think it’s a mistake. So, if the idea of travelling to Meereen fills you with dread then we will figure something else out.” He looked into her eyes and realised that she really meant it. If he really wanted her to, she would turn her back on returning to Westeros and reclaiming Winterfell and the North to build a new life in Pentos. And that’s what made him decide.

“No. We’ll go to Meereen.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yes. The idea scares me a little, but I won’t ask you to pass up the opportunity to avenge your family. I love you and if you think this is the right choice, then I trust your judgement.”

She looked almost as if she were about to cry. But before any tears could fall, she leapt up and kissed him fiercely. He really had to fight himself to break it off; sorely tempted to just take her up against the wall. Sansa probably wouldn’t object – her appetite had vastly increased with pregnancy. Eventually though, they detached themselves. Sansa smoothed down her dress then, after fixing her hair, moved to the door.

“Come, lets tell Illyrio the good news.”  
“Wait.” Sandor pulled her back to him. “If you’re going to restore the glory of House Stark, then you and your children must bear the Stark name.”  
“What are you saying?" " In Kings Landing, they may have named you Sansa Clegane, but now I name myself Sandor Stark.” She looked at him in astonishment.  
“Are you sure?”  
“I’m sure – it has more of a ring to it anyway.”

Sansa threw back her head and laughed. Gods, she was beautiful when she laughed. And they met Illyrio together: the Lady Stark and her husband Sandor.


	4. Journey's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival at Meereen does not go as planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, hope you enjoy the new chapter! Just so you know; it'll be a while before the next chapter cos I'm going away for a week to do a thing. Hang on till I get back!

_Sansa_

When the captain told them that they were nearing Meereen, Sansa’s heart soared. After being stuck on the ship for about a month, she was anxious to get back on dry land. It wasn’t just the cramped space that had her itching for her destination; her time was almost upon her and she didn’t like the idea of giving birth at sea.

She approached Sandor, who was facing the wind and taking deep breaths in an effort to keep the sickness at bay. He’d been doing very well. She remembered how tough it had been for him on the journey from Kings Landing to Pentos. This trip had given him time to gradually get used to the feeling of the sea, but he still looked pretty green. She stroked his arm comfortingly.

“Sandor?” He turned and she gave him a smile. “How do you feel?”  
“I’ve been better.” It was just like him to try to downplay his suffering.  
“Come belowdecks with me.”  
“Standing up here helps with the sickness.”  
“I know something that could help even more.”

He grinned at her; immediately grasping her meaning and allowed himself to be led to their cabin. Some of the crewmen guessed what they were up to and started shouting lewd comments. Sandor growled at them – none of them spoke the common tongue but he could guess what they were saying from their tone. Sansa merely laughed and said “it’s more than you’ll ever get” in High Valyrian, earning some raucous laughter. Sandor had been wary about leaving her on her own with these men at first but eventually it proved to be just as Illyrio said: none of them harassed her.

They slipped down into their cabin; Sansa shutting the door then leaning against it to give Sandor a coy smile. He returned it with a wolfish grin and pinned her shoulders against the door, devouring her mouth.

They quickly shed their clothing (one advantage of Pentoshi clothing was that it was easier to remove) and ended up on the bed with him lying back and her straddling him. She found that making love this way helped to alleviate discomfort.

Sansa gasped and Sandor groaned as she slid down his length and welcomed him inside her. With all that had happened recently, it had been a while since they’d been able to find some time alone. Gods, she’d missed him so much! His look, his touch, his kiss. Her skin a candle, his embrace a flame. And now she had him in her grasp – never letting go. _I am his and he is mine._

As Sansa increased the pace; Sandor’s hands moved in between her legs and started stroking that magic spot on her womanhood, causing her to throw back her head and revel in the glorious sensations coursing through her body. She could already feel her climax building within her. She wanted this to last forever but she couldn’t hold back much longer. When she reached her climax she cried out, not caring that there were crewmen working above who could probably hear them. The sight of Sansa in the throes of pleasure was too much for Sandor and, joining his cries to hers, he spent himself inside her.

Afterwards, when they were lying in each other’s arms, Sandor muttered:

“Sorry I couldn’t last long.” She let out a small chuckle and answered:  
“Don’t worry, I couldn’t either under your ministrations.” She could feel him smile and place a kiss on her forehead.  
“I take it as a compliment.”  
“So do I.”

Their bliss was interrupted when an almighty _CRASH_ shook the ship. Sandor leapt up and Sansa’s hands instinctively wrapped around her belly. Hurriedly, they dressed and made their way up onto the deck. The sight that greeted them was horrific. The crash had been caused by another ship colliding with theirs; filled with soldiers laughing, jeering and preparing to board. _Slavers_ Sansa realised, remembering what Illyrio had told her of the threats facing the Dragon Queen. Any doubts she had about them being slavers were put to rest when she saw Meereen. It was surrounded by ships, like the one that had attacked them, that were hailing fire down upon it. The city was burning.


	5. Steel and Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having just arrived in Meereen, the ship is plunged into battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back! I had a lovely time in the beautiful Scottish highlands but have now returned home to wifi and to you, lovely readers. Enjoy this next chapter. Keep an eye out for violence.

_Sandor_

“Get below now!”  
“What about you?”  
“If we’re gonna keep these fuckers at bay, I have to help them fight."

“One man won’t make a difference.”  
“They will when that man is me.”  
“Sandor, I want you out of danger. I am not raising this child alone.”  
“If you don’t let me protect you then you won’t have to.”

Sansa looked scared, but not entirely convinced. She fixed him with a look that said _this point is not up for discussion_ and said: “if the battle goes to hell, surrender before you let them kill you.”

Sandor would die before he let anyone put their hands on her; but there was no more time for argument so he agreed and Sansa disappeared belowdeck. Sending a silent _good luck_ after her, he turned and walked into battle.

The slavers started boarding the ship. One of them – clearly a cocky bastard desperate to prove himself by taking out the biggest – went straight for him. Sandor gave him a devilish smile and thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty in his attacker’s eyes before he landed the first blow.

The man was strong and fast. He clearly expected his speed to be an advantage, given Sandor’s size. This was an assumption people often made but what they didn’t expect was for him to move with an elegant quickness that did not belong in a man of his size and stature. At Clegane Keep, Sandor had always been the small one; meaning speed was the only way to avoid Gregor’s blows. It hadn’t saved him from the fire, but it served him well now. He matched his opponent blow for blow. Often he’d try to Surprise Sandor by feigning one way then going another, but he was always one step ahead and his sword met his opponents, no matter what tricks he tried to pull. Now his opponent was tiring and starting to panic; making his movements progressively clumsier. Suddenly: Sandor ended the fight with an elbow to the nose; sending his opponent reeling back in pain…and leaving his throat exposed. Before he had time to recover, Sandor slid his blade across the man’s throat and turned to greet the next opponent, leaving him in a pool of his own blood.

The next few hours, or minutes – it could be hard to tell in a fight – were a blur of steel and slashes for Sandor. But after taking down his eighth or ninth opponent, he found himself surrounded by slavers. He’d killed more of them than any of the crew, but that didn’t matter. All of the crew were dead. _How many are there? Can I take them all?_ Maybe he could, but that didn’t matter either. He’d promised his wife that he’d surrender before he got himself killed. And Sandor Clegane – _no, Stark_ – was many things… but he wasn’t a liar.

Sandor dropped his sword and held his hands up in a sign of submission. The slavers were moving in to take him when one of them started pointing and shouting. He turned to see what the man was pointing and shouting at but could only see a large black dot in the distance. A dot that was getting larger by the second and starting to take shape. Then it’s form became clear. The slavers started running about in panic. _Where are you going to run, you idiots? We’re on a boat._ Apparently that wasn’t an issue for the slavers as they started to jump into the sea, having completely forgotten about him. The creature was now so big that it was starting to block out the sun. Then a realisation hit Sandor like a rock against his head. They were a strange ship, in the middle of a sea-battle, with slavers on it. And he knew what conclusions he’d draw from that if he were in command. He wanted to shout, to tell it they came in peace but of course that would be futile. _Sansa._ He needed to get Sansa. Then he froze as he heard a roar, a command given in a strange language, and in the corner of his eye: a flash of orange, red, and blue.


	6. Poor Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just about the worst thing that could happen to Sansa during the battle happens.

_Sansa_

Sansa stood, dagger clutched in her right hand, ready to meet whatever came at her. There was a lot of shouting and thumping going on above her. Every so often she heard an almighty roar that she liked to think was Sandor’s. Sometimes she’d hear footsteps that sounded like they were coming towards her room and her heart would catch in her throat, but then they’d stop or change direction and she’d relax… only to start panicking again later when more footsteps would come.

A dull ache in her back caused Sansa to groan and cringe in pain; wishing it would go away so that she could focus on preparing herself for an attack. For a while it let up but then it came back again and stronger – just below her stomach, causing her to double over in pain. Dread swept over as she realised where the pain was, and what that meant.

“Please, please no” Sansa whimpered to herself. “Not now. I can’t do this now.” She prayed to both the old gods and the new that it wasn’t the start of labour. She’d heard that women had pains similar to birthing pains in late pregnancy, perhaps that was what this was.

Another shot of pain coursed through Sansa’s body, causing her to fall to her knees and cry out, then quickly muffle that cry with her sleeve as she remembered that she was in the middle of a battle and could alert an attacker.

Sansa tried to calm herself by remembering what she’d read about childbirth and what to do during birthing pains. She’d also visited a midwife in Pentos who told her to do a special type of breathing which she tried now, all the while hoping it was false labour. As another shot of pain hit she leaned over the bed and moaned into the sheets, then resumed breathing when it subsided a little. She remembered one of the books telling her to “breathe through the pain”. _Gods!_ She wanted to tear that book to pieces now.

There were still the sounds of fighting going on above her. Sansa had never felt more alone than she did in that moment. This was her first time giving birth and she didn’t want to do it all by herself. What if something went wrong? What would she do if it did? She already knew that women’s survival rates giving birth weren’t high, and she didn’t think that those rates were helped by women giving birth alone in the middle of a battle. She wanted Sandor. She wanted her mother. She wanted literally anyone who knew what they were doing.

The pains were getting closer together, which she knew meant her chances of it being false labour were seriously dwindling. Somewhere amidst the haze of pain, she realised the sounds of fighting had stopped. Was it over? Had they won? She strained to hear something, anything, and thought she could hear a sound in the distance; like wind rushing only stronger. Suddenly, she could feel liquid trickling down her legs. When she lifted her skirts, she realised her waters had broken. No chance of false labour then. Sansa Stark didn’t often curse. She hadn’t cursed at all before she met Sandor, but she felt that now was a time that called for it.

“Shit” she hissed. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”


	7. Unexpected Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys' victory celebrations are interrupted by the arrival of the daughter of the man who helped depose her father and the brother of the man who killed her niece and nephew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New POV to enjoy. Also, just so you know, I'm going to be switching to a bit more of the show canon because I'm running out of book material. Also I can't be bothered getting into the whole thing with Aegon and Quentyn.

_Daenerys_

Daenerys felt good. She felt satisfied. She felt ready. At last, the slave masters had been crushed and the cities of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor could finally be at peace; meaning that she could now turn her sights to Westeros. She grinned at Missandei as she strode triumphantly through the Great Pyramid, people darting out of her way as she went. She noticed that Lord Tyrion still couldn’t quite meet her eyes, clearly still embarrassed at what a complete and utter disaster his negotiation with the masters had been. She’d been so frustrated at returning to find Meereen burning and all of her hard work undone that she’d been tempted to throw him off the top of the Pyramid. But she had to admit that his idea to distract the masters with a supposed surrender while her dragons lay waste to their fleet was cunning. And there was a certain nobility in his attempt to resolve the conflict without bloodshed. Perhaps he did have a future with her after all.

But she didn’t want to think about that now. Right now; all she wanted to think about was a nice, hot bath. She had no enemies to fight, no allies to win, and no petitioners to answer. Everything had been tied up neatly… except for that one thing. While she’d been soaring over the slaver’s ships on Drogon she’d noticed a boat. A small one that she didn’t recognise, so she hadn’t destroyed it. But it was bothering her – not knowing who it was. She’d sent Greyworm with a few unsullied to find out if they were friend or foe. Friend – they’d send them on their way. Foe – they’d kill them. Now, all she needed to concentrate on was soaking in this gloriously warm…

“Your Grace!”

Daenerys sighed. _No rest for a ruler._ She met ser Barristan in her solar.

“Your Grace, Greyworm has returned with his unsullied that you sent to investigate the ship.”  
“And?”  
“It carried two people who claimed that they’d been sent by Illyrio Mopatis to be your allies in taking Westeros: Lady Sansa Stark and her husband Sandor Clegane.” Daenerys started. Those were two names that did not sit well with her.  
“Stark… was there not an Eddard Stark who assisted the Usurper in dethroning my father?”  
“This is his daughter.”  
“And was it not Gregor Clegane who killed my niece and nephew when they were only infants before raping their mother?”  
“This is his brother.”  
“They must have some courage to come before me, presenting themselves as allies. Courage, or audacity.”  
“Your Grace, with all due respect, your family and the Starks may not share the best history; but you do have a common enemy. The Lannisters kept Lady Sansa prisoner after they executed her father and waged war on her brother. It is also my belief that they forced her to marry the Hound. She has every reason to hate them, which means that she has every reason to help you.”  
“You know this Lady Sansa?”  
“Barely. I last saw her when she was barely more than a child. She seemed a sweet and kind girl then, but Gods only know what the Lannisters have made her into.”  
“And what of the so-called Hound?” Ser Barristan’s face darkened.  
“Him, I know well. He’s a drunken, foul-mothed beast who only cares for wine and killing. The only good I have to say of him is that he’s not quite as sadistic as his brother, and the dog-like loyalty he shows to his masters.”  
“Then what is he doing on the other side of the Narrow Sea from them, offering his services to their enemy?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“You say that the Lannisters forced Lady Sansa to marry him.”  
“Yes, Your Grace.”  
“Is it possible that she might need rescuing from him?”  
“It is possible.”

Daenerys rose and smoothed down her gown.

“I should like to see them now.”  
“That might be quite difficult, Your Grace.”  
“Why?”  
“It seems that when she began her voyage, Lady Sansa was heavily pregnant. When we found her, her time was upon her. We brought her and Clegane to the Pyramid and gave her one of the Guest Chambers. We also sent for a midwife who’s with her now, if it please Your Grace.”  
“Of course it pleases me. I couldn’t let her give birth on the streets” she snapped; her hand automatically going to the place where her womb would be – where Raego had died before she’d even held him. “What about Clegane? I would speak with him.”  
“I already thought of that and tried to bring him to you. He refused to leave her side.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, wondering how this Sandor Clegane had managed to refuse her own guards.

“Very well, then. I suppose that I shall have to wait until after the birth to speak with them.”  
“Your Grace, you are a queen. It is not right that they should make you wait.” She smiled serenely at the commander of her Queensguard.  
“I assure you, ser Barristan, I am quite accustomed to waiting.”


	8. The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded day for Sansa arrives.

_Sansa_

Sansa was in hell. Since being admitted into the Great Pyramid she’d spent what felt like an eternity hissing her way through birthing pains then pacing about her room in-between. All Sansa wanted to do was curl up on the bed but the midwife insisted that walking would help speed along the birth and she was keen for this to end. She didn’t mind the walking as much when she had Sandor to lean on but he’d been called away by one of the Queen’s men; the one she recognised as ser Barristan.

“Wh-where is my husband?”   
“He is still talking with the Queen’s guard” the midwife answered kindly. _But he should be here with me!_   
“How long has he been gone?” It felt like hours since she last saw him.   
“Three minutes. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Just as she said this, Sandor swept back into the room and took her other arm so Sansa could lean on him. 

“What did ser Barristan want?”   
“Just to let you know that Her Royal Highness Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen; Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons and so on welcomes you to Meereen.” Sansa grimaced as the pain returned.   
“How kind” she hissed, trying to keep the venom out of her voice.

“She also wishes you a swift and painless birth.”

But the Dragon Queen’s wishes proved to be in vain as Sansa’s birth was neither swift nor painless. What followed was a long and painful night of panting, pacing and trying to not to tell the midwife to fuck off every time she told her to _breathe through the pain._ But throughout it all, Sandor stayed by her side: helping her to walk; holding her hands when the pain hit; and rubbing slow, soothing circles on the small of her back. He even told her jokes and funny stories to try to lift her spirits. He was so kind and loving with her that Sansa started to cry from the overwhelming emotions and exhaustion and pain. Sandor gently brought his hand down and started to stroke her hair as she sobbed into his chest.

“It’s alright, Sansa, I’ve got you. You’re doing so well.”   
“But it’s not enough. I can’t take any more of this. I can’t… I can’t…” and she started to cry even harder. Her misery was interrupted by a sudden burst of light as the midwife drew back the curtains.

“Why is it so bright?”   
“Because it is morning” the midwife answered cheerily.   
“How can it be morning?” Sansa moaned with dismay.   
“Oh, my dear, I know that it has been a long and hard night for you but that baby will come soon and you will be so happy then.”   
“But when?”   
“Let us see, shall we? It must be nearly time now.”

Sansa leaned back against Sandor’s chest as the midwife checked in-between her legs to check how far she was dilated. Gods, his chest was so warm. She could just lie here and drift off…

“Good news!” Sansa snapped out of her stupor. “You are fully dilated now. You are ready to give birth.” _What do you think I’ve been doing for the past night?_ But she couldn’t stay bitter. Soon this would all be over and she would have her child. She smiled at Sandor who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Are you ready to be a father?” He smiled but there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes.   
“I won’t let you down. I will love this child so much.”   
“I know you will.”

The midwife prepared Sansa for the last stage of labour.

“My lady, when the pain comes you must push with all of your might. Do you understand?” She nodded anxiously. She was suddenly scared. What if she didn’t have the strength? What if the baby got stuck? But she didn’t have time to dwell on her fears as she was suddenly overwhelmed by pain and the urge to push.

Far off in the distance she could hear the midwife shouting at her to push and Sandor whispering encouragements to her, but she couldn’t focus on them. She was encased in her own little bubble where the only things in existence were her and this baby, and the only purpose was to push them out. The bubble suddenly burst and Sansa could no longer push. She collapsed back against Sandor, gasping for air.

“The head is born! My lady, you have done so well, been so strong, but you must keep going.”

 _Keep going._ For a moment she could have sworn that her mother was whispering to her to stay strong and her father saying how proud he was of her. She could even hear Cersei saying you will love this child more than anything. Then she was back in her bubble with the voice of Sandor, the midwife, her parents and Cersei all morphing into on voice saying _push!_

This time, when her bubble was broken, it was by a high-pitched noise. And when Sansa fell back her body no longer felt like it was tearing itself apart, and no one was shouting at her. There was only that high-pitched noise that she eventually recognised as crying. When she opened her eyes, she was presented with the sight of a small, pink person; face scrunched up and covered in goo. And it was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. The midwife was speaking as she placed the bundle in Sansa’s arms, but she didn’t hear her. She was too busy staring at her tiny, squealing, poorly timed, extremely late, amazing little daughter.


	9. Helena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor spends some alone time with his new love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short bit of soppy goodness.

_Sandor_

Sandor was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. He was too busy watching his daughter. _My daughter._ The words still sounded funny in his head. He had a daughter. He was a father. When Sansa had placed her in his arms he’d trembled. He wasn’t used to handling something so small and delicate – he was a killer after all – he thought he might hurt her. But she didn’t break in his arms; she fell asleep, his rough and calloused finger clutched in her tiny fist.

She was sleeping now, bundled up in her cradle. It had taken hours to get her down and he was meant to be making the most of whatever sleep he could get, but he couldn’t stop watching her. His little Helena. Sansa hadn’t wanted to give her a name too similar to her mother’s or sister’s as she felt that no one could ever replace them and Sandor felt that naming her after his sister or mother would be a curse. It had taken a while but they eventually settled on Helena Stark.

She had a little tuft of auburn hair on her tiny head but her eyes were the slate-grey of a Clegane. There were times when he’d look at her and see the eyes of Elinor. Then he’d think about Gregor and what he’d do if he saw those eyes and shudder. They’d been muddling through parenthood as well as they could. Sansa was coping well, though she frequently burst into tears when she couldn’t get Helena to sleep or when she was tired, happy, or sometimes just because. Sandor had often found himself in tears as well, over the past few days. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry in a while, and sometimes it felt good to let everything out. He had to admit; he didn’t think that him and Sansa were too bad at this whole parenting business. Though there were times when he wished that they had their own place.

He tried to leave their room only when absolutely necessary. He didn’t want to create a shitstorm with the Dragon Queen or ser Barristan who, as far as he could tell, still held a grudge over him replacing him in the Kingsguard; which he thought was bloody ridiculous since Sandor had never wanted the job in the first place and Barristan had found a new monarch to follow. But he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get all that out before he was dragged off to the dungeons.

The thought of being dragged to the dungeons and away from his little girl suddenly made him want to clutch her to him, but he now knew better than to disturb her when she was sleeping. He allowed himself to gently stroke her cheek and his heart ached when she turned into his hand. No one, not ser Barristan and his Dragon Queen and her three fire-breathing monsters would ever take him from her.


	10. The Queen and the Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two most important women to the future of Westeros finally come face to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter this one, to make up for my long absence. I apologise for that; my everyday life keeps getting in the way of my fanfic writing. How rude. Hope you enjoy this new POV.

_Barristan_

Ser Barristan tried not to tread on his Queen’s swirling skirts as she swept her way to Lady Clegane's chambers. Lady Sansa and her husband had been staying with them for over a week now, and so far they had shown no sign of ill-intent, having mainly been pre-occupied with their new born daughter; Helena he believed they’d named her. His Queen, however, was not yet satisfied that they could be trusted to join her on her conquest of Westeros. Personally, he couldn’t imagine the sweet young girl he’d met in Kings Landing who loved knights, songs and lemoncakes hatching an evil scheme to take down the last Targaryen, but he wasn’t sure about Clegane. The man he’d known back in Kings Landing who tailed the spoilt young prince everywhere was a foul tempered brute… but he wasn’t conniving or manipulative. He also seemed completely devoted to his wife. He and the Queen had questioned the midwife to see if the Lady was being mistreated by her husband, but she gave them a glowing report.

“He is more devoted than any husband that I have met before. He stayed with his wife throughout the entire birth and he’s been so gentle and loving with both her and their daughter.”

Barristan had gaped when she described the man he knew as the hound as _gentle and loving._ But now they would both find out the truth of the matter.

After sending Missandei ahead to announce them, he followed his Queen into Lady Sansa’s chambers, to find her perched on the end of her bed and nursing her daughter at her breast. Daenerys cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable to have found her in such a state.

“My apologies, Lady Clegane, I could return later if now is an inconvenient time for you.” She looked up and smiled demurely.  
“Now is not inconvenient at all, Your Grace, I am perfectly capable of meeting with you.” For once, his Queen seemed unsure of how to proceed.  
“We could have provided a wet-nurse for you.”  
“I prefer to feed her myself.”

She pulled up a chair and sat next to where the Lady Sansa continued to feed her daughter. Barristan thought that he detected a hint of longing in her eyes.  
“She’s… very pretty.”  
“Thank you, Your Grace, I think so too.”  
“You named her Helena, I believe?”  
“Yes; Helena Stark.”  
“Won’t she take her father’s name?”  
“No – he took my name after we left Westeros.”  
“That’s not how things are normally done.”  
“We’ve never agreed with how things are normally done.” A flicker of admiration passed across the Queen’s face.

“I trust that your husband is pleased with his new daughter.”  
“He is absolutely in love with her.”  
“He is not too disappointed that you had a girl?” Her smile hardened then.  
“It does not make the slightest difference to him.” Daenerys leaned forward and placed what she meant to be a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  
“Tell me truly, Lady Stark, do you wish to be free of him?”  
“What?”  
“If you say the word then I could dispose of him for you.” The lady visibly paled.  
“I don’t want him disposed of; I want him by my side.”  
“You need not fear me, or your husband, I will not judge you should you want rid of him. I know that it was not by your wish that you were married.”

Lady Sansa tried to compose herself and her baby started crying; clearly sensing her mother’s distress.  
“Your Grace, please listen to me and understand me. I may have been forced to marry Sandor, but now I love him with all my heart. He has never abused me, he did not take me to his bed until I was ready, and he has always treated me with the love and respect that I deserve. Do you understand?” Daenerys looked surprised for a moment, before masking it with a cool nod.  
“I understand perfectly well. I know from personal experience that sometimes an arranged marriage can lead to happiness.”  
“How do you know this?”  
“My first marriage was arranged by my brother, Viserys, who cared nothing for my wellbeing – only for reclaiming his kingdom. He sold me to the Dothraki lord Khal Drogo in return for an army.”  
“But you found happiness with this Kahl?”  
“It was… difficult at first: my Sun and Stars was a vicious and intimidating man, rather like your Hound, but I discovered a part of myself that I was not aware existed – a part of myself with confidence, desire and ambition, and it helped us to form a love.”  
“So we both know how to find love out of despair.”  
“But you do not know what it is to lose that love, and I pray you never will.” She regarded the babe in Sansa’s arms and Barristan watched as her expression became overcome with grief. “We would have had a child together also, a son named Rhaego, but a witch cursed Drogo and murdered our son before he was even born.” The Lady Sansa seemed to grip her daughter tighter upon hearing that.  
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace.”  
“Do not weep for me. The witch got what she deserved.”  
“How?”  
“Fire and blood.” They both smirked at that.  
“I do know something of pain and loss and the man – well, boy – who inflicted it on me also got what he deserved, though I regret that I was not the one to give it to him.”  
“How?”  
“Wine?”

They stayed in silence, before simultaneously bursting into laughter, and Barristan could see in Daenerys’ eyes that she felt she had found an ally. But she didn’t want to give her trust so easily.

“I am told that you wish to join yourself with me in my quest to conquer Westeros.”  
“That is correct.”  
“And why should I accept you? What do you have that I will need?”  
“A unique insight into the mind of your main foe: Cersei Lannister; and the North.”  
“Lord Tyrion can already give me unique insight into the mind of Cersei Lannister, along with several other key enemies, and I don’t see the North with you.”  
“With all due respect to Lord Tyrion, I can see Cersei from a perspective that he can’t. Firstly; I was her prisoner – she didn’t guard herself against me as much as she may have done with him, which allowed me to learn and process more of her personality and thinking patterns, which I certainly did. Secondly; I am a woman trying to rule, just as she is, just as you are. We are both in the same situation that she is, trying to gain power in a world set against women, meaning that we can predict her strategy, which is another perspective that Lord Tyrion does not have.”  
“Intriguing, I must say, but what about the North?”  
“The North has been sold to the Boltons by the Lannisters in return for betraying the Starks. The North may be under their rule but they hate the Boltons for betraying my family; they’ve always been loyal to the Starks and they will rise up again for Eddard Starks’s daughter.”  
“So, before I gain the North as an asset to my cause, I must first put the army I already have at risk by trying to liberate it?”  
“It would be a significant victory if you did, Your Grace. The North is bigger than all six of the other kingdoms put together so it would make a strong start to your conquest. And northerners are strong fighters who are fiercely loyal to whomever they choose to lead them. First my father, then my brother…”  
“Then you?”

 _Ah_ ser Barristan thought. _This is what she’s been so concerned about: a possible rival._

“Next to you” Sansa quickly replied. “If they see you as a liberator from the tyrannical rule of the treacherous Boltons, they will see themselves as forever in your debt and honour bound to fight for you. You are the Breaker of Chains, are you not, why not break theirs?”

Barristan had to admit; she made a fairly convincing case. He could see that his Queen was now further on her way to trusting her. But then she said something that neither of them expected.

“Now, I’ve told you why you should have me as an ally, why should I entrust myself and my country to you?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“You heard me.”  
“I thought that you were the one trying to convince me to let you join my forces.”  
“That was the plan, but before I commit, I must be certain that you are the right person to commit to.”  
“And how do you know that I will not throw you to my dragons for this insolence?”  
“Will you?” Sansa stared at the Dragon Queen straight on, clearly determined to show that she wasn’t afraid.  
“No, and that’s why you should be my ally. I will not punish you for questioning me, and I will not reward intelligence and good sense with persecution and pain. I will be a wiser, kinder, and better ruler than you have known before. I intend to make life better for women by enforcing the Rhoynish law of inheritance, so little Helena won’t be denied her birth right just because of her sex. I also intend to make life better for everyone in the Seven Kingdoms by changing the way their leaders are chosen.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Instead of the Iron Throne being passed down through bloodlines, a suitable leader will be chosen by all the major lords and ladies of Westeros.” Lady Sansa clearly found this surprising… but not unappealing.  
“That… that will be a hard sell to the lords of Westeros. That and Rhoynish law.”  
“If any of them have any problems, they’re free to take it up with my dragons.”

The two women regarded each other and Barristan could tell that they’d reached an agreement.

“So, Lady Stark, do I have a trustworthy ally in you?”  
“My Queen, I believe you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tee hee. I enjoy writing these badass female characters. Now feels like an appropriate time to tell you that I'm going to pay little to no attention to the show canon for the end of this series. You guys are entitled to your own opinions but I personally disagreed with a lot of the endings the characters got. (Especially Jaime, grrrrr). I might drop a little canon here and there but other than that it'll pretty much be my own ending since there's no actual book canon to follow. Damn you GRRM!!!!!!!!


	11. Welcome and Unwelcome Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two ghosts from Sansa's past emerge.

_Sansa_

Sansa was in a peculiar mood. She’d been in a lot of peculiar moods recently. Sometimes, at random points throughout the day, she’d find herself overwhelmed with sadness, anger, or anxiety. She’d been told that she’d experience intense mood swings after giving birth, but she’d expected to be back to normal by now. _It’s just because of all that’s been happening recently_ she told herself. _I’m going back to Westeros to reclaim my homeland; I’m embarking on one of the most important endeavours of my life; that’s what’s setting me on edge._ She hoped they’d stop soon: they were forming a rift between her and Sandor. With her mood swings becoming more and more unpredictable, he’d started becoming more and more tense around her. His tenseness only served to make her tense as well. They’d taken to tiptoeing around each other, almost like they had when they were first married.

But Sansa didn’t want to think about that just now. She’d found a nurse to look after Helena. She loved her little girl, just as Cersei said, more than anything she’d loved before, but she needed time to herself. She also had a brief respite from planning their landing in Westeros and Sandor was training with Greyworm and the rest of the Queen’s forces; meaning Sansa was alone with her thoughts. She’d taken to exploring the Great Pyramid a lot recently, often with Helena in her arms, watching as her daughter’s eyes roamed the vast halls and towering pillars in wonder. But for now, she was content to explore them alone, wondering if and when she’d ever look upon the rustic majesty of Winterfell again.

She was making her way to one of the balconies and had just rounded a corner when she was brought face to face with two strangers. One – the woman – stood proud but easy; looking like she was ready to pounce at any moment. She didn’t recognise the other, at first. He looked so weak and sallow that it was hard to see the cocky, obnoxious young man he’d once been. It was the kraken on his chest that gave it away. Then she remembered who he was, and why it had been so long since they saw each other. Then she pounced.

He went down almost comically easily. _He used to be so strong_ she thought _when last I saw him, before he…_ She screamed in fury, pinning him to the ground and raining her fists down on him.

“Murderer! Traitor! Kinslayer!”

She soon became deaf to her own screams and his as her pain tried to block out the rest of the world. The woman just gaped at her, at first, but then raised her arms – suddenly holding an axe. Just before she could bring that axe down on her head, Sandor barrelled into her from the side, sending her axe flying. The woman twisted herself out of his grip, pulled a dagger and they soon were at each other’s throats as Sansa continued to pummel the whimpering wretch on the floor.

Suddenly, a pair of broad arms wrapped themselves around her waist and were dragging her away. She shrieked and writhed in fury.

“No! Let me go!”

She turned and saw the face of Jorah Mormont; the Queen’s personal guard and trusted advisor. But in that moment, it wouldn’t have mattered if he were the Warrior himself; only that he was standing in the way of her revenge.

“He’s a murderer! I have to kill him!” She cried, beating her fists against his chest.

“You let her go Mormont!” Sandor bellowed as held the woman in a choke hold with one hand and pointed his sword at ser Jorah with the other.

“Drop your sword, Clegane!” Daenerys’ voice rang clear and bounced off the stone walls. Sandor, reluctant but used to following orders, cast a long glare at Jorah as his sword clattered to the floor. The woman squirmed out of his grip and went to retrieve her axe.  
“You too, Greyjoy.” The woman, with a glare that could rival Sandor’s, stepped away from the axe.

“What is the meaning of this?” The Queen was quivering with anger that she made no great attempt to conceal. Behind her, ser Barristan stood gaping; To her right was Missandei, reflecting her Queen’s anger; and to her left was Lord Tyrion, who seemed faintly amused by the whole affair. Sandor rounded on the Greyjoy woman.

“She attacked my wife.” The woman pointed an accusing finger at Sansa.  
“His wife attacked my brother.” Sansa continued to struggle against Jorah’s grip.  
“Theon murdered my brothers!” All eyes fell on Theon who had started to cry. Tyrion stepped forward.

“I did warn you that there would be tensions between the Greyjoys and the Starks, Your Grace.” Daenerys glared at him.  
“I know, and I had hoped to speak with Lady Stark alone before she found out” Sansa stared at her in disbelief.  
“You mean to say that you’ve formed an alliance with _them_? They’re thieves, rapists and murderers. That man, if you can call him that, is a kinslayer and a traitor.”  
“Yes, he told me about his dealings with Robb Stark, but he has sworn that he is not responsible for the deaths of your younger brothers.”  
“HE LIES!”

Sansa lost all control then. With a rage she didn’t know she possessed, she broke free of Jorah’s grip; but before she could resume her attack on Theon, Sandor came between them and scooped her up and carried her back to their chambers, as if she were a toddler having a tantrum. Even after he’d set her down she kept trying to get past him; kicking him and beating her fists against his chest until her strength gave out and all she could do was collapse against him, sobbing, and allow herself to be enveloped by his all-encompassing embrace.

She slept the rest of the day until the next morning. Sandor tried to talk to her about the… incident, but she refused, choosing instead to cocoon herself against her rage and sorrow, and all other emotions so she could try to forget it ever happened. She tried to cheer herself up by playing with Helena but her daughter could clearly tell she was a miserable wretch and rejected her attempts at coddling until Sansa became exasperated and left her with the nurse. That was when Lord Tyrion came to pay her a visit.

She couldn’t look him in the eye. She was so embarrassed that he’d seen her like that. It didn’t help matters when he said:

“My lady, I’ve come to speak with you about Theon Greyjoy.” She felt that familiar fire rising within her. “I know that you hate him and I don’t blame you for that, but there’s something you should know about him and your brothers.”  
“If he says he didn’t kill them then he’s lying. He displayed their bodies for everyone to see.” Sansa could feel bile rising in her throat.  
“Those bodies did not belong to your brothers.”  
“What?”  
“The bodies were burned beyond recognition. He claimed they were Bran and Rickon but in truth: he’d failed to track them when they escaped so he took two farm boys of a similar age, killed them, burned their bodies and claimed to have executed the two princes.”

Sansa stood perfectly still. She felt like she wanted to sit down, or possibly lie down.  
“So… Bran and Rickon are… they’re alive?”  
“Possibly. All we know is that they escaped Winterfell. If they are alive, they could be anywhere by now.” She tried to listen to Tyrion. A little voice inside her head tried to remind her that they’d been missing for years and the likelihood of the two young boys with no home surviving in a world as brutal as this one was not high. But both of those voices were drowned out by the images of Rickon playing with Shaggydog, Bran scaling the castle walls, and a part of her telling herself: they’re alive. She wanted to jump up and down for joy, kiss Tyrion, find Helena and scoop her up so she could tell her all about the two uncles she hadn’t known she had. But she regained herself just in time.

“Does that mean that I should forgive him, just like that? He still betrayed Robb and the rest of the North. And even if he didn’t kill Bran and Rickon, he still murdered two young boys.”  
“I’m not asking you to forgive him, just to cooperate with him. He may have betrayed your family and taken the North, but now he can help you to take it back. And there’s something else you should know.”  
“What is it now?” She didn’t think she could take another surprise.  
“I think it would be easier to show you.”

Sansa followed Tyrion through an endless maze or corridors, halls, and staircases. She thought, not for the first time, that if she had 100 years to explore this place she’d still find some corner she didn’t recognise and become lost forever. Finally, they came to a large set of rooms; rather like the ones she and Sandor had been allocated. She still wasn’t sure what the point of her being there was until she spied to young girl huddled in the corner. She’d grown a lot since they’d last seen each other, yet somehow she seemed smaller and meeker. Her eyes showed years of suffering and loss but lit up when they landed on Sansa.

“Jeyne!”  
“Sansa!” 

The two women collided together and fell to the floor; clutching each other and weeping. Sansa had no idea what to say but Jeyne kept chanting over and over:  
“Is it really you? Is it really you?” Sansa looked at Tyrion who was shuffling from one foot to the other on the other side of the room.  
“How…”  
“She and Theon were both prisoners of the Boltons in Winterfell. She was forced to marry Ramsay Bolton and he was his slave. He helped her to escape then they ran away together to find his sister.”  
“He saved me.” Jeyne stammered out between sobs. “They told me that noble and chivalrous knights didn’t exist but they do. He’s mine.” Her eyes lit up so much when she spoke of Theon that she didn’t have the heart to tell her that her noble and chivalrous knight had betrayed her family and was part of the reason that she’d been imprisoned by the Boltons in the first place, so she just continued to hold her.

She was so focused on Jeyne that she almost didn’t notice Theon standing huddled over by the door. When she did, she detached herself from her weeping friend’s arms and made her way to talk to him. She noticed (with satisfaction) that he shrank back as she approached.

“I know that you didn’t kill Bran and Rickon and I know what you did for Jeyne.” Theon said nothing; just kept staring at the ground. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you, but everything that’s happening now is more important than everything between us from the past. So, I am putting my hatred aside so that we may work together to create a better world with the Dragon Queen. Perhaps if you prove yourself to be a good man, I may find it in my heart to forgive you.”

Theon nodded silently and she was about to leave when he finally spoke up.

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done.” She took a deep breath and replied:  
“Being sorry won’t make it right.”


	12. Disembarking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they prepare to leave Meereen, Sandor is forced to face his fears of the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like most of the notes on this story are me apologising to you guys for not uploading. Nevertheless, apologies are due. I try to update this as much as possible but I have work and other commitments. Who knew being an adult would be so hard?

_Sandor_

“Greyworm says we’ll depart within the hour.”   
“Okay.”   
“Got everything? Don’t need me to go back for anything?” She shook her head silently. He didn’t want to leave it like that. There was something he should say but he didn’t know how to say it.   
“Are you alright?” She brought her eyes up to meet him; with a look that was both empty and full of longing. She clearly wanted to say something, and was just opening her mouth to speak, when Helena’s wails cut through her voice.

Sansa visibly deflated as she turned to her crib.   
“It’s alright, let me.” He scooped his daughter up and whisked her out of the cabin that had was thickening with tension.

Helena stopped crying almost immediately once they were out on the ships deck. Her cool grey eyes widened: eager to take in the ship, the people, everything there was to take in. Sandor had never thought he’d ever see eyes as beautiful as Sansa’s sky-blue pools, but watching Helena’s round intelligent eyes absorb the world around her was something he could watch forever. Looking into them allowed him to forget all that was happening: that he was returning to Westeros; a place he’d have been happy to abandon forever, that he was about to fight in yet another war, and that his relationship with Sansa was deteriorating.

He turned her round in his arms so that she was nestled against his chest and gazing at the Meereen skyline, above which towered the Great Pyramid.   
“You see that?” he whispered, pointing to it.   
“That’s where you were born, though you were nearly born right where we are now. You chose a pretty awful time to arrive.” He just about managed to stop himself from saying _fucking awful_. Learning not to swear in front of a new born was proving to be a big ask.

“Perhaps we can come back and show you one day, if we survive all this.” A chill went down his spine at his own words and he held her closer.   
“You will survive all this, my love, I will make sure of that. There is nothing, and nobody, that I would not sacrifice to save you. Me and your mother both.”

Helena simply stared up at him; completely oblivious to everything that was racing through his mind right now. Tears started to well up in Sandor’s eyes. Bystanders were astonished to see the legendary warrior who’d given unsullied soldiers a good arse-kicking in training weep, but knew better than to challenge or mock him over it. So, Sandor stood alone: his back to his destination, holding the world in his arms.


	13. *upcoming news*

Sorry you guys have been waiting so long, and I'm afraid you may still be waiting a while. I know, I'm worse than GRRM. I've recently gotten a new job and the words "day off" have no meaning to my boss. You all have the patience of saints and I cannot thank you enough for your support.


	14. Not Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tries to confront the elusiveness of her own feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the dead and I have a new chapter. Well, to be honest it's barely a chapter. You guys deserve better. Trigger warning for this chapter - talking about depression. Kind of for the entire chapter. If this subject matter upsets you, you can just skip this chapter; nothing significant to the plot happens, just more internal musings.

_Sansa_

Sansa didn’t know what to do. When Sandor had asked her if she was alright she had been completely lost for words, not knowing how to explain what was going on in her mind, and she could see how hurt he was that she was pulling away from him. The only time she could remember feeling anything like this was when she’d heard that her family… but why should she feel like that now? Her fortunes were better than they’d been in a while: she’d made an important alliance with a powerful figure; she was sailing back to Westeros to reclaim her homeland; and most importantly, she had a daughter. And she was beautiful. She shouldn’t be feeling this wretched. What was wrong with her?

She thought about taking a walk on the deck, to get some air, but then she remembered Sandor was there with Helena and she didn’t think she could bear to see them right now. She felt so guilty. She thought about crying but found that she couldn’t be bothered. Before, Sandor had been able to make her feel again but now, nothing seemed to provoke her. It was as if all the colour had been sucked out of the world. The only solution she could think of was just to wait until the next day, then the next, then the next. Do that and hope that one day would bring colour back into the world.


	15. Kismet, Daenerys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys confronts what her entire life has prepared her for.

_Daenerys_

It was time. Asha had come to her and told her they were ready to disembark. When next she set foot on the ground, that ground would belong to Westeros. So many years, so many deaths, so many tears, and all for this: what she was born to do, what she lived to do, what she would do at all costs. She would cross the Narrow Sea, set foot on Westeros, march her armies to Kings Landing, set aside the usurpers Cersei Lannister and Tommen Baratheon, climb the steps of the Red Keep, sit on the throne of her ancestors, and restore peace to a broken land; just as she had done for Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen.

Most of her life had been spent running, yet at the same time being pulled back; back to Westeros. To the land where she had been born amidst wind and rain, the land where here family had ruled for centuries. When her brother had spoken of their triumphant return and how they would take back everything that had been taken from them, her mind had been thrown into doubt. Could she find a home in a place she couldn’t remember seeing? Could she preside over the people who had sent murderers licking at her heels? Could she persuade people who had suffered under the rule of her father to trust her? But now she understood. Just as Aegon the Conqueror did to begin the Targaryen dynasty, she would travel from the East and rain fire upon those that would harm her and those she loved. They would die screaming.

Viserys had taught her the Targaryen legacy – what she must embrace but also be wary to fall to. Drogo had taught her what it was to love, and to lose, and how far she was willing to go to protect the ones she loved. Jorah had taught her how much someone could appear to love you, before betraying you; that no one was incapable of treachery, but also that no one was beyond forgiveness. Missandei had taught her what true devotion felt like, what it was for someone to love and respect you but ask nothing in return but your own love and respect. Sansa had taught her two things. First: that when other people’s way won’t do, you must find your own way; and second; that no one is as strong alone than they are side by side with the people that matter. All this she had learned and more, but now it was her turn to teach others, to teach them how an invasion was done.

She had an army made up of two of the strongest fighting forces in the world, she had one of the best navies in the known world, she had advisers who knew well the minds of her enemies, she had Westerosi allies in the Starks, Greyjoys, Martells and Tyrells, and she had three dragons. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes our second installment in the saga. My little bro has hyperplastic left heart syndrome (try saying that with several drinks down you) so me and the fam have been self isolating so we don't infect him, and if nothing else, self isolation is good for completing projects normal life gets in the way of. Oh, and saving people's lives. Thank you to all you lovely readers, your support means the absolute world to me. I hope you're all doing ok in the current crisis, look after yourselves, wash your hands, and as far as possible, stay inside and read lots of fanfiction! Before I release the final installment, I'm planning on writing some more Star Trek fiction (mainly TNG and Voyager) so if you like Star Trek keep an eye out, if you don't like Star Trek find someone who does and tell them to keep an eye out. Thanks for reading and stay safe.


	16. Hair Raising Fundraiser *not actually part of the story*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to direct your attention to a fundraiser I've started.

Hello lovely readers, I hope you're all doing OK. This doesn't actually have anything to do with the Love, Friendship and War series or any other works, just a quick announcement: I'm shaving my head to raise money for a charity. 

The charity I'm raising money for is called Little Hearts Matter - they're a cause devoted to supporting children and young people with serious heart conditions. I have a very personal connection to them as my little brother has an illness called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, basically meaning that the left side of his heart doesn't work properly. It's a condition that's had and still has a very serious impact on his life, but throughout it all; LHM has provided him with a loving and supportive community that understands his experience and can help him in lots of different ways. Thank to LHM, my family doesn't have to walk this journey alone. 

I'm going to leave a link to my Just Giving page. Obviously this lockdown has had a financial knock on most people's lives and some of you might not have your own income so please don't feel obliged to donate if you can't, but if you can that would be brilliant.

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/olivia-smith-hairraisingfundraiser 

Donate or I won't write any more stories! Just kidding (or am I?)


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